- ᴀ ᴅʀᴀᴄᴏ ᴍᴀʟғᴏʏ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ
Draco lifts his head up, shooting a glance towards his left to the witch staring shamelessly at him, his pale eyes settling on her, grunting irritably,
"Do you ever mind your own business?"
Oonagh pondered silently, tuc...
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𝕿he Christmas Holidays were quickly approaching, and much to Oonagh's delight, the castle had been decorated magnificently for the festive season.
Twelve Christmas trees stood proud and tall in the Great Hall, all singlehandedly delivered by Hagrid, and filled with baubles of the house colours. Garlands of Holly and sparkling tinsel had been twined between every banister of the many staircases, and great bunches of mistletoe dangled in archways, ringing its bell for Christmas kisses. From every angle, direction, perspective, Hogwarts glowed.
The talk of Slughorn's fancy Christmas Party took precedence for the time being, and Oonagh had been over the moon to find out Harry has asked Luna to go as friends. She'd never been invited to a party before, so she was extremely excited.
She'd snuck Oonagh into the Ravenclaw tower, eager to show her the dress she had picked out, beautifully spangled with silver layers, to which Oonagh had offered the compliment she'll shine like a disco ball. They'd found perfectly matching jewels, and the Hufflepuff had mentioned she happened to have a sparkly colour of nail polish that would finish the look.
The pair now found themselves in a classroom, out of use for the afternoon, pampering the Ravenclaw for the party. Hermione and Neville had joined them in company, creating a fairly nice group in Oonagh's opinion.
"I thought we were friends, clearly, I was wrong" Hermione huffed, lining up some of Oonagh's nail polishes in a certain order that went right over Oonagh's head. It wasn't alphabetical or colour, something much, much more complicated.
Luna frowned faintly, embracing her sincerity and honesty that adds to her extraordinary self, replying, "I think he's unkind sometimes, and that was unkind"
Hermione hums largely in agreement, blowing at one of her brown curls obstructing her vision, then swiftly tucking behind her ear. Her following words take Oonagh largely by surprise, so much so that she nearly knocks over the bottle of varnish,
"What do you think, Oonagh?"
She raises her head, blue eyes meeting brown across the table, slightly narrowed In thought. The last person she'd imagine Hermione to ask about her friendship with Ron would be her, she didn't know them all that well. Perhaps an outside perspective was what she was looking for, Hermione always was strategic, the brightest witch of their age for a reason.
She thinks back to the Transfiguration lesson that had put their friendship on the rocks more than before, when Ron imitated Hermione's keenness to answer questions because she'd giggled at his bright moustache. Hermione had fled from the classroom in tears, re-living the laughter from Lavender and Parvati in her ears.
From what Draco's told her, both Ron and Hermione are head over heels for one another, but neither of them are willing to take that first move, to tease the border between friendship and romance. Instead, they've been backtracking to the line of frenemies.
